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The serpent devours it's self
A ring of futility
The patience game is not for the faint heart
Watching them tear your confidence apart,
Pulling the flesh from your backbone
Creaks give way to breaking
Shattering of nerves
Plucking away the feathers of hope
Bare naked and goosepimpled
The carvery lays waiting
An unceremonious carving
Beligerant twisted barbs of lies
They think they have power
They think the can destroy me
I almost thought they could too,
But as they say reputation is king
And mine speaks flesh to my bones
I pick the scales off one by one
Their pious deception no match
for my holy inception
A twisted fork tongue lays deep in its own rotted flesh
How the snakehole swallows it's own creator
Writhing in contorted panic as it's own truth flashes in its eyes
I may well be torn down every shred of pride
Only to rise a new and free from their serpentry
While they taste the bitter poison in their own sad tales
They never had real faith
And mine was never afraid of being tested
They forgot the sage old saying
Death trampling on death
Arise Tabitha and sin is no more
And nor is the serpent whom devours its self.
Nice one
I'm going from Has-it Highway to Had-it-Alley
©bishu
"Arise Tabitha"
I was howling there, for a moment. Then I remembered. Retired is so much more less. I made it to senior citizen - we must take each triumph separately and celebrate singly and biggly. So very very good to have a poem from you in June 2019. :D slc